


Displays of Dominance

by frankenberger



Category: Hannibal (TV), The Path (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bitchy Will, Cal is an angry angry man, Cal is an indecisive little bitch, Dominant Hannibal, During: The Path s01E03 A Homecoming, Hannibal Loves Will, Hannibal is a terrible human being, I just like making Hannibal suffer, Light Bondage, M/M, Naked fistfights, Oral Sex, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Prostate Massage, Rimming, Rough Sex, Tea Drinking, The Will is gone, Threesome - M/M/M, Where there's a Will there's a Way, Why do I keep writing stories where Will is gone, Why is the Will gone, Will throws a mean punch, Yay here's Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-06-04 20:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6674959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankenberger/pseuds/frankenberger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cal swallowed, casting a glance at the other man as they surged headlong through the darkness. He chose his words carefully. "I get the feeling that you're a dangerous man to know, Cain."</p><p>The man who had called himself 'Cain' regarded him silently for a moment, his expression inscrutable. "As are you, I expect." His voice was soft, but there was the edge of something sharp behind his words, a keen blade wrapped in silk. "Despite your instincts, you offered me assistance."</p><p>Cal shrugged, focusing on the flow of the dark highway beneath them as they travelled. The sight was mesmerising, as was the sound of the other man's voice. He certainly had a captivating presence, and in spite of his own considerable talent in that area, Cal was halfway jealous. "You gave me your word. I hope you're not intending to betray my hospitality."</p><p>---</p><p>A dark deserted highway in upstate New York, and a stranger in desperate need of assistance. Cal was never a man to ignore the forces of serendipity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Power poses

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This is set post S03E13 of Hannibal, and during S01E03 of The Path, diverging from the show from that point. I'm currently up to date on The Path (episode 8, for those keeping score at home) and I may have used some of the character development from the later episodes. Cal's return from Cuzco in episode 3 just seemed like a good place to put this.

Cuzco to Lima, Lima to JFK. Nearly half a day since he had left Doc's bedside. Pensive, the oncologist's words still ringing in his ears. Afraid to say goodbye in case it was for the last time. Nearly half a day, trapped in the claustrophobic press of cattle class, breathing recycled air and the stale exhalations of strangers. Was it any wonder that Cal still felt so tense?

"On a biochemical level, the powerful and the powerless are differentiated by two things: testosterone and cortisol." The pleasant female voice came in a steady conversational stream from the car stereo, cutting through the miasma of Cal's thoughts. "This isn't just a passive reflection of innate tendencies, but more of a self-fulfilling prophecy. Studies show that the expression of dominant behaviour can actually increase testosterone levels."

He had been riding a high all the way to Peru, caught in a rush that had followed his television interview and a desperation to share his joy with Steven. Local station or not, those few minutes of airtime had seemed more powerful than years of distributing leaflets on the street. And he had done it. He was responsible.

"Are power poses as expressions of dominant behaviour simply reflections of power, or are they capable of creating that power, through the increase of testosterone?" The voice from the stereo droned on, and Cal gritted his teeth, barely paying attention. 

Despite his achievement, Felicia and Bill wouldn't allow themselves to trust in his judgement. Always so suspicious, hiding behind empty words, their 'healing light'. It was infuriating.

"Power is displayed in very specific ways throughout the animal kingdom. Open, expansive gestures exhibit dominance, whether you're looking at humans, or primates, or other species entirely. And anger? Obviously, the biochemical reaction to anger also serves an evolutionary purpose."

Cal's anger was palpable, a film of cold sweat that covered his body. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that he wondered if they'd have to prise his fingers apart with a crowbar when he arrived at the campus.

"A controlled release of aggression can decrease cortisol levels, increase testosterone. The question, then, is how to release anger in a way that asserts power without betraying weakness."

Cal glanced down at the stereo, scowling at the words. He had few outlets for the kind of rage he felt. He had his breathing exercises, or prayer. Pushing away the pain, drowning out his mind in the hope that the light might come to him, show him the ladder. Let him ascend. 

Wishful thinking. In reality, his urges were far more mundane. Reaching for the bottle with his left hand while the right curled into a fist. He saw the Truth, he lived in the light. He didn't need the booze or the violence. But did he want them? Sometimes, yeah, he did.

As the lights of the city faded behind him, he started to anticipate both the warm welcome of the compound and the cold comfort of his bed. Among his people he would feel normal again. Strong, like he should be. In control.

"It has been demonstrated that power poses, or non-verbal displays of power..."

The night was dark, and the only relief from the blackness on this stretch of road was the headlights of Cal's car. With a night so dark and a mind so loud, he didn't see the car that blocked the road ahead of him until it was almost too late.

"Fuck!" Cal slammed his foot down on the brake so hard that the car almost slid sideways on the slick asphalt as it came to a stop.

"What are non-verbal displays of power?" The voice on the stereo asked him, and he silenced it. He reached out to flick on his hazard lights, cursing gently under his breath as he got out of the car.

The man who stood behind the stalled vehicle had turned at the sound of squealing brakes and watched Cal walk over, shielding his eyes from the high beams of the headlights.

While his pulse pounded in his ears, Cal forced his face into a friendly and open expression. "Hey there," he said. "Car trouble?"

The other man was perhaps ten years older than Cal himself, judging by the grizzled grey of his beard and the weathered lines of his face. He was far from unkempt, though. Sandy hair pulled back in a knot at the back of his neck, bundled in a well-cut overcoat against the evening chill. A clear contrast to his rusted and battered wreck of a car, which even now emitted a steady steam of smoke from under the hood.

The man swallowed heavily, his face pale and haunted as Cal approached. "Will-" he blinked, then collected himself. "Will you help me? I have to get the car off the road."

"Sure thing." Cal smiled, genuinely pleased to be of assistance. "You steer, I'll push."

Cal had a well-honed wiry strength, but moving the old car off the highway wasn't an easy task. At the very least, no other cars came along to complicate matters. By the time he had pushed the vehicle safely onto the verge the muscles of his arms and shoulders were burning, and he was sweating profusely despite the cold of the night. He left the other man for long enough to move his own car out of the lane before returning, halfway thankful for the distraction from his own thoughts.

The older man was watching him avidly, caught in a stunned silence. Cal wiped off his hand on his pants before he held it out. "Calvin Roberts," he offered.

Startled out of his reverie, the man returned the greeting. "Cain." From the sideways flicker of his eyes and his brief hesitation, Cal sensed a lie. "Thank you for stopping," he added, as if Cal had a choice in the matter. Strictly speaking, he could have swerved around the broken-down car and gone along his way, but This hadn't really occurred to him as an option. Cal was never a man to ignore the forces of serendipity.

"I'm no mechanic, but would you like me to take a look?" He didn't want to assume that the other man knew little about cars, but his large hands were soft and smooth in a way that spoke volumes. He didn't like to get those hands dirty, Cal could tell.

Cain nodded hesitantly. "Thank you."

He wanted to warn the other man that thanks may be premature. Even before he opened the hood, Cal could tell by the smoke that this was a lost cause. As expected, the engine was a complete mess, beyond any mechanical skill Cal may have had. The radiator had ruptured, it seemed. He returned to the other man, who was glaring balefully at the fused metal of the burnt out motor as if he could somehow guilt-trip it back to life. "It's bad," the man said, with a sigh.

"Well, it's not good," Cal replied seriously, projecting empathy with his eyes. "Engine overheated. You've been leaking coolant for miles, I expect. I doubt this car is going anywhere soon. Want me to call for a tow?"

Even as he spoke, Cal was pulling his phone from his pocket. Cain stopped him short, clutching suddenly at his arm. "No." He realised his mistake, and backed away as if burned. "My apologies, but that won't be necessary. Thank you for your help."

Cain, if that bore any relation to his real name, was well-dressed but haphazardly groomed. Well-spoken but driving a wreck of a late-model car, stranded in upstate New York in the middle of the night. Unwilling to call for a tow truck, so either he was short of money or wary of the extra attention. A criminal, a fugitive? Cal considered himself to be a very good judge of people and situations, and he didn't see anything that spoke to him of immediate danger. No, if this man was on the run, he was only trying to escape from himself. Cal had seen this before, so many times. As the stranger turned to close the hood of his car, Cal could see the exhaustion evident in every movement, a slow and shaken grief. He carried his pain like a dark blanket, heavy on his shoulders.

"Look," Cal started, trusting his instinct. "I can't just leave you stranded out here in the middle of the night. Where are you headed? Can I give you a ride?"

Every time Cal opened his mouth there was a certain look on Cain's face, one that was hard to pin down. The closest approximation that came to mind was the look he sometimes saw on Mary, the refugee from New Hampshire, back at the compond. A sort of dewy-eyed adoration, hungry and raw. While he didn't expect that this stranger was looking at him with lust, it was a similar essence. Like he was watching an illusionist's sleight of hand, or a dog that suddenly started reciting Shakespeare. Strangely, Cal found that he didn't dislike being on the receiving end of this sort of attention. He found himself standing in silence, meeting the other man's eye for a long and intense moment.

If this was non-verbal communication, Cal would have preferred to know exactly what they were communicating to one another.

Cain opened his mouth as if to say something, and instead shook his head. A derisive smirk, self-directed. "Forgive me," he said. "I can't ask you to do that."

Cal tilted his head. "You don't have to ask. I offer, you accept. A simple transaction." He held his hands up, trying on his best grin. "I'll promise not to murder you, if you can do the same."

"I'll certainly try my best," the man said, his voice softening. Cal was breaking down the barriers, he could tell.

"Well, then, I believe we have a deal." Cal reached out and clapped the other man on the shoulder. He didn't stiffen or shrug him off, so Cal could tell they were going to get along just fine. "You point the way, and I'll take us there."

Cal mused on the strangeness of the situation as Cain fetched his luggage from his car. Always, without exception, he was a leader and the rest of the world had to follow or perish. All the same, here he was, allowing a complete stranger to dictate his path.

It was thrilling, almost, to not be in control. Freeing. And he kinda wanted more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This is my thing! Hope you like my thing! 
> 
> Writing like a creature possessed, hoping to get the next chapters up as soon as they're ready. This chapter is short, I know, I was just too excited to wait on posting it. :D. Eager for comments/kudos/abuse as they will only fuel my frenzy.
> 
> More warnings/pairings shall appear as I get the fun parts fleshed out. I promise that there will be smut.


	2. Disclosure

After some brief and gentle prodding, it became evident that Cain didn't actually know where he had been heading when his car had broken down. Aside from the vaguest idea of north and what may lie north, he seemed to be more preoccupied by where he was coming from rather than where he was going to. In the end, he simply asked if they could head for the nearest motel, and Cal acceded. He wasn't about to offer sanctuary at the compound. Although he couldn't quite articulate the reason why, something in his gut told him that would be a phenomenal mistake.

Perhaps it was the way that the other man looked at him. As Cal drove, Cain watched him with a quiet intensity that made the hair at the back of Cal's neck stand on end. When the silence became too treacle-thick and Cal couldn't bear it anymore, he spoke. "Can I be frank?"

"Please." Cain replied, unfazed.

Cal took a deep breath. "You look at me as if you know me." More to the point, he looked at Cal as if he had seen a ghost. Cal wasn't going to assume that the man had seen his television interview, or was aware of his work with the Meyerist movement. Surely that would have warranted a mention. "Like you recognise me."

"You don't find me familiar?" Cain's eyes sparkled, bitter amusement evident in his features.

"I'm sure I'd remember if we had met before," Cal replied. Even though the other man was just teasing him. Even though the words tasted like dust in his mouth, an empty platitude.

"Perhaps in another life." Cain dropped his gaze, finally, in a pantomime of contrition. His expression was solemn and tired. "Forgive me," he began. "You closely resemble someone I used to know."

Cal frowned. "Huh." He was more intrigued than disappointed at the admission. "How close, exactly?"

"As if you were his very shadow." The man sighed, a barely-audible exhalation. 

Cal nodded, processing the information. He didn't know whether his curiosity would be unwelcome, but he hoped it would be taken as genuine interest. "This man, this- friend?" He let the word hang in the air, and it billowed like smoke around them for the longest moment before Cain picked up the unspoken question.

"His name was Will," Cain responded. "I don't believe that the concept of friendship really encompasses what we were."

Cal looked over at him, trying to appear both sympathetic and encouraging. This was a fundamental tool in the arsenal of the Meyerist, honed by long years of spreading the message on the streets. And he was good at it.

"Imagine all the ways one person can relate to another," Cain spoke slowly, eyes fixed on the road ahead of them. A lock of hair had come adrift from the loose knot at the back of his head, and it hung over one eye. He seemed younger in this moment, more vulnerable. More human. "Every interaction, every relationship. That would barely even scratch the surface."

Cal was hesitant to use the word 'soulmate', but Cain seemed to imply something akin. It was a little unnerving, if he could be honest, to know that the sight of him recalled such deep emotions from a stranger. "I'm sorry," he said lamely. "Your loss must be... I can't even comprehend."

Cain gave him a stiff smile in response. "It would be unreasonable for me to blame you for something over which you have no control."

"Likewise, it would be unreasonable for me to expect you to suppress your pain for my sake," he threw back with barely a pause.

"Reason should prevail," the older man murmured, as he scratched at the coarse stubble on his chin distractedly. "But I don't wish to burden you."

Cal was warring with himself. As unwilling as he was to preach to an unreceptive audience, his ingrained instinct was to help wherever he could. Cain might be an ignorant systemite, but there was just something about him that made Cal want to explore deeper. "Unburdening yourself doesn't necessarily mean that you're shifting that weight to another." He tasted the words on his tongue, furtively scanning the other man's face for resistance. "You don't have to carry it with you, you know. We shed tears for those we leave behind, but suffering shouldn't be a default state. You can be free of the pain."

"If I don't wish to be free of it?"

Cain seemed calm enough, but Cal still felt as if he had overstepped his bounds. He felt the flush as it spread across his cheeks. "You don't have to let your grief define you."

Cain gave a small hum of acknowledgement. "You have a keen eye and a hungry curiosity, Mr Roberts."

_Hungry_. Cal shivered, not quite knowing why. "And only the best of intentions," he said, voice faltering momentarily as he lost his train of thought. "I help people. That's what I do. I would like to help you, if such a thing is possible."

"I'm wondering what it is you do for a living." Cain pondered, watching the driver with narrowed eyes. "Are you a psychiatrist?"

Cal exhaled a surprised huff of laughter. "No, I most definitely am not." The Movement, understandingly, took a very dim view of the field of psychiatry and the poison drugs with which they enslaved the systemites. "Have you much experience with psychiatrists?"

He realised belatedly that the other man may take this as an insinuation that he was in need of psychiatric care. Cain, however, didn't react as if this offended him. "Aside from being one myself? Yes, some experience." He smiled wanly. "I hope you won't hold this against me."

The revelation wasn't exactly alarming, as the other man hadn't yet made an attempt to get inside his head. "Perhaps you aren't in as dire need of my unprofessional help as I had thought, Doctor."

When Cal turned to look, the other man's face had changed. No longer sad, or blandly pleasant. Expressionless and cold, as if he had allowed a mask to drop. "I'm of the belief that we can help each other, Mr Roberts." His voice was soft, a low purring rumble in Cal's ears. 

"You speak of burdens as if you carry none, but you wield control over your emotions in a manner that betrays a heavy weight." His gaze shifted, drifted down the length of Cal's body and back up again. It was a lingering and blatant appraisal, of which he was unashamed. "You hold a great deal of tension. I can see it."

Cal was flustered, and he could feel the ache of his jaw as it clenched. Uncontrollable, and a visible confirmation of Cain's theory. "Yes," said the stranger. "I warrant there are secrets you push deep inside. Shame and desire you can't even share with those closest to you. Would I be right?"

Cal found himself torn between politeness and anger and a sick feeling in his stomach at the twist of the conversation, the truth of the words. Despite the temporary distraction of their meeting, he knew that the frustration and anger he had felt since leaving Peru still simmered inside him.

"With all due respect, I'm not here for therapy." Thin-lipped and almost shaking with the effort of restraint.

"Nor was I, but like you I am loathe to deny an opportunity when it presents itself." The tip of a tongue darted out to sweep along the swell of his lower lip. "Like you, I only wish to help."

Cal found himself wondering who exactly this man was, and what he had gotten himself into.

Cal swallowed, casting a glance at the other man as they surged headlong through the darkness. He chose his words carefully. "I get the feeling that you're a dangerous man to know, Cain."

The man who had called himself 'Cain' regarded him silently for a moment, his expression inscrutable. "As are you, I expect." His voice was soft, but there was the edge of something sharp behind his words, a keen blade wrapped in silk. "Despite your instincts, you offered me assistance."

Cal focused on the flow of the dark highway beneath them as they travelled. The sight was mesmerising, as was the sound of the other man's voice. He certainly had a captivating presence, and in spite of the creeping unease it gave him, Cal was halfway jealous. "You gave me your word. I hope you're not intending to betray my hospitality."

"You don't shy from danger." It wasn't a question, more of an observation, but the tone of his voice was teasing. As of yet, Cal had no reason to doubt his perception. Call it blind faith.

"You have no reason to harm me, and I don't believe you will. Despite the implications of the name you've chosen to give me."

Cain, slayer of his brother, cursed upon the earth. A heavy-handed and obvious deduction. However, Cain seemed pleasantly surprised at Cal's insight, judging by the amused quirk of his lip. "Are you a religious man, Mr Roberts?"

Cal's brow furrowed. "I'm not ignorant of the reference, but I'm not a garden-variety Christian, if that's what you're asking." He spoke slowly, ponderously. "I am a man of deep faith."

Cain hummed, folding his hands placidly in his lap as he gazed at the road ahead. "You are surprisingly astute for it. Belief and rationality do not often go hand in hand."

"Perhaps you haven't found the right religion," Cal offered.

The older man worried at the bun at the back of his head. It seemed he was just as unaccustomed to long hair as he was to the grizzled stubble of his greying beard. "Is this leading into a sales pitch?"

Cal let out a short bark of laughter, disarmed. For all the mystery surrounding his passenger, he certainly had an interesting sense of humour. The menace he had projected only moments ago now seemed illusory. "Not at all. I don't want to talk about my beliefs. Right now, I want to know more about you."

Cain raised his eyebrows, but didn't object. Cal took it as an invitation to continue. While he would like to know if Cain was a murderer in the literal or figurative sense, that wasn't a question you could simply ask. He compromised. "You see, I'm curious what could have led a man such as yourself to the middle of bumfuck nowhere so late at night."

The other man smiled again, finding some private amusement in the line of questioning. "I am a vagrant and a wanderer on the earth," he replied.

"That's not an answer," said Cal.

"No," agreed the other man, "It's not. Consider it returning the favour, as you never answered my question."

With such skill in deflection, Cal was beginning to think that the other man might be a bit of an asshole. "Answer mine, and I might consider it."

Conceding, Cain nodded his head. "I was in the process of visiting an old friend. Belatedly, I realised I no longer have any friends. I seem to have lost my place in the world."

"A sad discovery," said Cal.

"When your place exists solely in relation to the proximity of another, it is hard to regain purpose when the other is lost to you." More than a touch of bitterness in his words.

Cal assumed he was talking about Will, his supposed doppelgänger. "There are other things beyond the world of here and now," Cal started, hesitantly. "If you are receptive, the way will become clear to you."

"Spoken like a true lamb of God." Cain's lip quirked in the smallest smile as he glanced at the road ahead. "And like a beacon in the darkness, my destiny beckons."

Cal saw it as soon as he had spoken. Bathed in the glow of his headlights, a sign indicating their destination, a motel. He steered the car toward the turnoff with a mixture of relief and disappointment. He knew he would never see the stranger again, and he wasn't quite sure he had gotten all he wanted out of their interaction. Confession in the midst of relative anonymity was liberating. Perhaps, he mused, the Catholics and the twelve-steppers were onto something.

He pulled up beside the motel and stopped the car, gazing toward the bright glow that emitted from the office. "Let me pay for your room. It's the least I can do." He realised two things. Firstly, Cain might not have a great deal of money on him, judging by the car he had been driving. Additionally, motel clerks sometimes took identification in a way to protect their premises from damage. Unlikely, but possible. 

Cain looked like he was on the verge of arguing, but one or the other of Cal's concerns was clearly accurate. He wasn't about to spend the night out in the cold out of pride. "Thank you," he replied instead. "I am in your debt."

As it transpired, the act of renting a room consisted of little more than the exchange of money for a key. The clerk looked up from her fashion magazine only for long enough to request a signature on the register, and Cain placidly complied without questioning. A furtive glance showed that the older man had signed his name 'Stephen McLaughlin', confirming that 'Cain' was nothing more than an alias. Clearly, this was just another name in a list of useful pseudonyms.

They returned to the chill of the night so Cain could retrieve his small duffel bag from the car, and Cal handed over the key. "Well," he began.

"Can I offer you a cup of coffee before you head on your way?" Cain's voice was oddly soft, strangely lonely. Cal was becoming increasingly cynical about the behaviour of the other man, but was unable to entirely convince himself it was a façade. "Surely there are some facilities in the room."

"I wouldn't necessarily bet on it." Cal laughed weakly, politely. "But no, I had better be on my way. Besides, I don't drink coffee."

Cain inhaled heavily, as if summoning the patience to deal with the refusal. "Tea, then?"

While the thought of whatever might pass for tea in this place was even less appetising than the coffee, he knew full well what it was like to be left alone. Back at the compound, he would have a cold bed and hours of sleepless introspection to look forward to. He could drink far better tea, but he would do it alone.

"Just for a while," he said, and he hoped he wouldn't have cause to regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm, well, there's definitely something brewing here. Cal and Hannibal alone in a dingy motel room? Will there be sex? Violence? A bit of both? Cal has a lot of shit to work through, and I'm fairly sure Hannibal will be willing to help out with that. When I look into the light, all I see is porrrrrn.
> 
> I think at this point, Cal is secretly overjoyed that someone wants to drink tea with him.
> 
> I see this as four chapters at this point, perhaps five if the filth obliges. But let's just see where the night takes us. The next chapter will be up as soon as I can get it finished.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you're enjoying it so far. :D


	3. Unorthodox therapy

The room was surprisingly decent, given the proximity to the highway. Relatively clean, with a firm, high double bed and a framed picture of a cheerfully faded seascape on the wall. No fridge, but a rummage through the cupboards uncovered an electric kettle and a box containing instant coffee sachets and cheap teabags of unknown vintage. Cain took only a cursory glance in the box before replacing it in the cabinet under the television. 

At Cal's questioning look, he smiled. "I always carry my own tea," he explained, shucking his overcoat and laying it carefully over the back of the lone, rickety chair. Underneath, he wore a slate grey button-down shirt, the fabric so fine that it barely seemed rumpled by the hours on the road. "Please fill the kettle."

The words were delivered more as a polite instruction than a request, and Cal blinked. He was a little taken aback, convinced for a moment that he had misheard, misread. Cain was perhaps unaware of the dynamic he was proposing. Cal complied, but it was with a cautious hesitance.

When he returned from the small bathroom with a full kettle of water, Cal found the other man rummaging through his duffel bag. He produced a small metal canister from his jumble of belongings and sniffed deeply at the fragrant contents. "An organic blend of my own devising," he said, as Cal plugged in the kettle at the wall socket behind the television. "More of a herbal tisane than a tea. Unless you'd prefer the standard black tea the motel has provided?"

"Not at all," Cal said quickly, removing his jacket and laying it on the end of the bed. "I'd like to sample your blend."

Cal sat on the mattress as the other man made tea. He hummed as he set out cups and measured loose leaves, lulled by the comfortable domesticity of the activity. Cal, meanwhile, was feeling increasingly awkward. He wondered what those closest to him would think if they knew where he was right now, sitting in a motel room with a stranger he picked up on the road. 

_What would Sarah think?_ Sweet, beautiful Sarah, she of the unshakeable faith. She had never blamed Cal for his mistakes in the past, the falters and slips along the way as he ascended to the tenth rung of the Ladder. She mistakenly assigned him a sort of sacred purity, unaware of the lustful depravity he subjected her to in his fantasies. Would she see only innocence in this interaction? With no knowledge of the stranger's motive's or intentions, Cal wasn't sure if he'd consider it innocuous himself.

Cal fixed his gaze on the bedspread, only half aware of the boiling kettle and the tinkling of spoons as his overactive mind whispered alternate warnings and reassurances. The bed shifted as Cain sat down beside him and he looked up, startled out of his thoughts. Cain held out one of the steaming white cups, amused by Cal's discomfiture.

"Is someone waiting for you?" Cain asked conversationally, and Cal's jaw tightened. His pulse raced, an instinctual and animalistic response to the implied threat. "Will you be missed?"

"What would happen if I should say no?" Cal grasped his teacup in both hands, feeling the warmth suffuse his skin. He took a sip of the hot tea, found the taste unfamiliar but not unpleasant.

"You would earn my pity," Cain replied evenly, scenting the cloud of steam that issued from his cup. "But that wouldn't be the case, would it?"

"No," agreed Cal. "My people are expecting me." A half-truth. While the Meyerist compound was expecting his return from Cuzco, he had neglected to give them exact timing.

"Your people?" Cain shifted his position slightly, and Cal was uncomfortably aware of their proximity. His thigh, while not touching the other man, was mere inches away. "A leader of men as well as a saviour of lost souls." Cain seemed pleased with the picture of Cal he was putting together. "You're accustomed to being in charge, I gather."

"I have been fortunate in that area," Cal replied guardedly, drinking his tea. Entrusted with Steve's vision and the power to set a direction, Cal knew he was lucky to have gotten so far in the organisation.

"Leadership is a heavy burden."

Cal shrugged. "Well, I guess that depends on your management style."

The older man tilted his head thoughtfully. "Control can be overwhelming, if you don't have an anchor to bind you to reason."

An interesting thought. "To control, you would be controlled? That sounds..." Cal searched for the appropriate word, wilting under the heat of Cain's gaze. "...stifling."

"Not at all. Relinquishing dominance can be therapeutic." Cain placed his teacup on the nightstand, careful not to upset the contents. "To love is to surrender control. Is there anyone you've loved this deeply?"

 _Love._ Cal had long since despaired at love since Sarah, -his- Sarah, had chosen another man over him. His was a selfish and greedy love, made even more painful by the fact that she had married Eddie, that passionate and broken man he had learned to love almost as much as Sarah herself. It was strange, how the bonds of friendship could sour in the face of unspoken longing. "I loved someone once, but she didn't want me." Cal gave him this, but he would prefer to shift the focus away from himself. "Was- Will, did you love him? Was he your anchor?" 

"Yes." He seemed humbled by this admission, his voice raw. "My beloved, but not my lover." 

Cain continued to stare at Cal with unblinking intensity, fixated by the resemblance to his lost love. His hand shifted restlessly on the bedspread. Suddenly wary that twitch would lead to touch, Cal shuffled his body further from the other man. "I'd appreciate it if you could stop looking at me like that," he said.

"I thought you didn't wish to deny me my pain," Cain replied softly. He angled himself in a way that immediately closed the distance between them. Teasing, always teasing.

"That's not pain I see." Cal found himself stammering. The other man radiated a welcome heat, and some primal, impulsive part of Cal would have gratefully wallowed in it. "Not pain. Something else."

Cain returned a smile. "I asked you a question before. Have you considered whether to answer it?"

To hide his nervousness, Cal drained his cup of tea. "Question?" Warmth was spreading through his body and pooling at his core, and it was not because of the beverage.

Cain persisted. "As a man of deep faith, how do you deal with all the fear and anger you can't share with those around you? The desire you dare not speak of?" The corners of his lips quirked upward. "You seem so averse to orthodox therapy, I can only imagine what you use as a release."

"Well," Cal started, voice cracking. He put on a bluff front, a mask of confidence. "I pray, I meditate. There are these- uh- breathing exercises, to centre..."

"Come now, I thought we were being honest with one another," the other man chided, his eyes dancing with a predatory amusement. He didn't move, but he seemed to get closer and closer. "Those are methods to repress, not to release. Surely there's something more. Tell me, Mr Roberts. Do you fight, or drink? Or fuck?"

The shock of hearing such a word in the careful, cultured accent of the other man was a bolt of electricity that coursed down Cal's spine. He dropped the empty teacup, hearing the flat ineffectual thud as it hit the carpeted floor. "I think that's really none of your fucking business."

Far from being offended, Cain smiled at the reaction he had elicited. "I'm just trying to determine which alternative form of therapy to offer. A combination of several, perhaps?"

Gingerly, Cain lifted his hand and placed it atop Cal's thigh. Palm flat, fingers splayed wide. Cal shuddered, scrambled to his feet. "I ought to knock your teeth down your throat for even suggesting that," he said, but the words came out with a hoarse indecision, clouded by inexplicable desire.

"I would happily accept your violence," said Cain evenly, "but I'd far prefer something else down my throat." His glance flickered up and down Cal's body, lingering on the taut fabric at his crotch with a smug sort of expectation.

Cal let out a small, strangled noise. It wasn't as if he had never fantasised about another man. Most of his late-night imaginings involved Sarah, of course. Sarah undone, offering her submission to him with moans and cries as he worshipped her slim, smooth body. But sometimes, increasingly, it was Eddie he thought of as he took himself in hand. The burn of Eddie's stubble against his cheek as he whispered praise and adoration into Cal's ear. _You are everything. Everything._ Pressed flat beneath him, legs splayed wide, as Cal buried himself to the hilt. Sometimes, it was all three of them. Eddie, Sarah, Cal. Endless configurations, meticulously constructed. They had transgressed a thousand times together, in the solitude of Cal's feverish fantasies, between the sweat-damp sheets of his bed.

He knew it was wrong, he knew he was supposed to be beyond this. He was destined to be a leader, a prophet, a godhead. In the face of temptation, he should be able to walk away. Recalling himself to the present moment, he tried to do just that. "Look. Cain, Stephen, whatever the fuck your name is. Nice to meet you, but I have to go." Without waiting for a response, he turned to leave.

Cain caught him by the door with a firm grim on his forearm, strong fingers digging in. Reacting quickly, Cal twisted around to wrench his arm free and threw a strong punch that connected with Cain's jaw with satisfying weight. Cain had been expecting retaliation, and the blow did not rock him. He gave a self-satisfied grin with blood welling from his split lip, and lunged toward Cal, slamming him against the wall beside the door. 

As Cal struggled, Cain held him tightly by the arms, jammed his thigh betweem the shorter man's legs. He drew in close, his face in the hollow of Cal's neck. "I'd rather you stay," he murmured, lips tickling against Cal's skin.

Cal couldn't deny his interest, not when the physical evidence was pressed in a hard line against Cain's thigh. With the other man's hot breath against his neck, his self-control was slipping. "You want to fuck me because I look like him, right?" Cain shifted, grinding the hard muscle of his leg against Cal's groin. The friction of the dual layers of cloth against his cock was almost painful, and a moan escaped him.

"I never said this would be a selfless act, Calvin." Cain punctuated this with a kiss to Cal's throat, tasting the salt of his sweat. "I want you, for reasons of my own. You want me too, maybe because you know how good this could feel." He lifted his head, gazing hungrily into Cal's eyes. His voice was rough with desire. "Let me give you the release you need. Surrender your control to me."

Trapped between the wall and the heat of the other man, Cal found it too hard to resist. "Yes," he breathed, and Cain captured his mouth, crushing their lips together in a searing kiss. He tasted like blood and fire, the coarse scrub of his beard prickling against Cal's skin. 

Cal forced them away from the wall, releasing his trapped arms only to wind them around Cain's back, digging in his fingernails, rumpling the smooth fabric of his shirt. Cain responded with a grunt, sliding his hands around to grasp the firm muscles of Cal's ass with possessive roughness. _Lest he forget who was in charge here._ He moved backwards, dragging Cal with him, aiming for the bed. There was little space to manoeuvre in the small motel room and before Cal knew it he was flat on his back, legs hanging over the end of the bed, looking up at the other man.

"Cain-" he started, but the word felt wrong to both of them, judging by the expression on the stranger's face.

Towering above him, pressed between Cal's legs, the older man gave a minute shake of his head as if considering something and finding it unsatisfactory. "Call me Hannibal," he said. He wanted to strip aside the lies, wanted his own name to be the one to fall from Cal's lips as he took his due. 

"Hannibal." It was fitting. Strong. Like the Carthaginian general who waged war against Rome. A strategist, a conqueror. Or, Cal's lust-hazed mind provided, like the fabled cannibal who had escaped imprisonment only to plunge to a violent death in the bosom of the sea. Would 'Hannibal' conquer him, or swallow him whole? Both possibilities sent a shiver down Cal's spine.

Cal started to unbutton his shirt in a sudden frenzied desire to feel skin against skin. Hannibal bent over him and trapped his wrists, pressed his hands to the bed. "Did I say you could do that?" His voice was hoarse, his accent thick. He was a heavy weight atop Cal's body, crushing the air from his lungs. "You're going to have to learn to do only as you're told if you want this to have any therapeutic value." 

Releasing Cal's hands, he began to unbutton his shirt with reverent slowness, relishing every inch of flesh he exposed. The air of the room was cool as Hannibal methodically bared Cal's torso, running his long fingers along the hard planes of his chest, laving his smooth skin with the rough surface of his tongue. Glancing up, he grasped both nipples and pinched the sensitive nubs, eager to drink in Cal's reaction. Cal captured his bottom lip between his teeth, hissing with the intensity of the sensation.

Pleased with what he saw, Hannibal allowed his hands to rove downward, unfastening Cal's pants as he kept his eyes fixed on the younger man's face. His hand slipped inside, palming his straining cock through the damp fabric of his briefs, and Cal gasped. "F-fuck."

The memory came, unbidden, of another night, not so long ago. When he had gone to the meeting hall alone, to bask in the darkness and pray to the Light. The girl had followed him. _Mary_. She had been so smitten, so grateful for his condescension, that she dropped to her knees before him. Releasing his cock from its confines, enveloping him in the warm wetness of her mouth. He had been so weak that he hadn't stepped away or protested, but when he began to harden under the ministrations of her eager tongue he thought of Sarah, and he pulled himself away from Mary. The same feeling was washing over him now, the sick roiling of his stomach as he pictured Sarah's face. A single word, _betrayal_.

"No," Cal said, his voice a low groan as the older man's hand started rubbing up and down Cal's length with a slow rhythm. "No. This was a mistake."

"I'll stop if you want me to stop," the older man replied as his motion faltered, stilled. His other hand cupped Cal's face gently, demanding his attention. "But not for the wrong reasons. A life spent pining for something you can never have is hardly a life worth living. Let it go. Be here, with me."

He knew he should fight harder, but the weight of the other man against him was so hot and so good. He was sick of jerking off to something that would never be real. He told himself that he wanted this. "I'm here," he said, struggling for words. "I know I shouldn't be."

"So full of fear, weakness." Hannibal's hand kept pressure upon his cock, a warning or a promise. He sighed, with a edge of disappointment. "Perhaps I was wrong about you."

"I'm here," said Cal, his voice wavering. The light pressure on his erection wasn't enough, he needed more. He tried again, keeping his voice firm. "I'm here."

"Show me," Hannibal demanded as he drew back into a standing position, working at the buttons of his shirt. "Take off your clothes. Take off everything. I want to see you."

Cal obliged, setting aside his hesitation in favour of a shaking anticipation. Kicking off his shoes, shedding his pants and leaving them crumpled in a pile. He scrambled up onto the bed, pressing his back flat against the headboard as he tossed his shirt to the floor. Finally, he yanked off his underwear with twitching hands and sat there naked.

Hannibal took his time, folding his shirt with an infuriating calm. He may have been older than Cal by a few years, but beneath the layers of clothing he was a block of muscle, a testament to rigorous upkeep. Like Cal himself, this man was a disciplined animal. Hannibal's chest was strong and broad, furred with a soft cloud of greying hair. On the left side of his abdomen, just above the jut of his hip, his skin was marred with a puckered and raised scar. It had the angry, red appearance of a recent wound, perhaps in the last three or four months. Cal didn't find it repulsive, and he didn't feel sorry for the guy. Hannibal wore it well, like a proud battle scar.

Cal felt exposed under Hannibal's stare, unused to this kind of vulnerability. He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. "They say that patience is a virtue, but it's not one of mine," he said.

Hannibal smiled, working at the buckle of his belt. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of his trousers and pulled them down, taking his underwear along for the ride. Cal had thought the other man might not even be aroused at all given the lack of urgency with which he undressed, but he was wrong. Hannibal's uncut cock stood proudly at the juncture of his thighs, thick and curving slightly toward his belly. The very sight of it made Cal's mouth dry, and his mind was racing. _Am I really going to do this?_ He was unsure exactly what 'this' entailed, but the speculation alone was overwhelming. 

As Hannibal laid his trousers along the end of the bed, Cal's hand moved to his own cock with an instinctive need and he began to stroke his shaft, already slick with pre-come. "Hurry up and get over here before I change my mind," he said, fully aware he was long past the point at which he could retreat.

"So rude," the older man replied thoughtfully, crawling up onto the bed with feral grace. "I ought to gag you." As he approached, eyes ablaze with a cruel fire, Cal's hand only moved faster.

Hannibal made a derisive noise, grasping Cal's wrist to still his frenzy as he settled himself over the younger man. He ran his fingers over the silver chain that hung around Cal's neck, lifting the shining silver eye to examine it with amused curiosity. Cal had entirely forgotten he was wearing it, and he felt an immediate rush of guilt. He scrambled to unfasten the chain, but Hannibal shook his head. "Allow me." His hands were warm against Cal's skin as he carefully opened the clasp and let the chain fall, gathering it into his palm in a shining pool of silver.

"Give that to me," Cal said, too hastily, but Hannibal only looked at him.

"I'm not about to steal your jewelery, Calvin," he replied dismissively as he set the pendant aside on the nightstand. He was curious, perhaps, but he wasn't about to let this distract him from the task at hand. He lifted high on his knees to bring his cock level with Cal's face. "Open up," he said, his hand sliding around the back of Cal's head to tangle in his hair.

Cal steeled himself with a deep breath and obeyed. He leant forward, his tongue darting out to flick against the exposed head of Hannibal's cock, and he heard the hissing intake of the other man's breath at the sudden sensation. He had never sucked a cock before, but he thought he could maybe grow to like it. The taste had a hint of salt, an edge of musk, and the slightest touch of bitterness. Hannibal's long fingers tightened on the nape of his neck, urging him forwards, as he opened his mouth wide to accommodate the girth. Cal sucked in a slow, deep rhythm, twirling his tongue around the sensitive glans on every upstroke. 

Hannibal groaned and thrust his hips, burying his cock deeper into Cal's throat. He gagged around the suffocating length with a wet retching noise, tears springing to his eyes. At this, Hannibal pulled back and allowed his cock to slip from Cal's mouth. Cal panted, struggling to even his breathing, and Hannibal thumbed at the moisture welling from his eyes. He sucked the digit into his mouth, tasting the essence of Cal's debasement. 

Then, Hannibal trailed the wet tip of his thumb against Cal's swollen mouth. "Those lips," he said, and the wistful glint in his eyes made it clear it wasn't really Cal's lips he was thinking of. "They look so beautiful, wrapped around me. So perfect."

Cal opened his mouth, allowing Hannibal to slip his thumb inside. His teeth grazed across the digit and the older man moaned, barely audible. When he kissed Cal again, it was with a desperate copper-tinged abandon. 

Cal ached for contact, for pressure against his aching cock, but he didn't speak aloud. He was afraid this would break the spell between them and remind Hannibal that he wasn't the man he longed for. Instead, he pleaded silently for the farce to continue, almost prayed into Hannibal's mouth as their tongues clashed. He hated that he felt this way. It was twisted, obviously. A sin he could never offset, even if he planted a million trees or brought ten thousand true believers to the Light.

Hannibal pulled himself away, panting, and he answered Cal's prayer. He moved downwards, nibbling and sucking on Cal's exposed chest and abdomen as went. Shifting back on the bed, he forced Cal to spread his legs and raise his knees so he could crouch between the splayed thighs. Then, fixing Cal with the look of a starving man, he enveloped Cal's straining erection in the lush wetness of his mouth.

Cal tried to force himself to focus on Hannibal's face but his vision was clouded, eyelids fluttering as Hannibal swallowed him down with an obscene groan. He didn't think of Mary, or Sarah. The guttural, masculine noises of pleasure that issued from the other man and the strong grip of his hands on the muscles of his thighs banished these associations from his mind. This was something different in this encounter, something raw and visceral, and Cal couldn't help but be fully present in the moment.

Hannibal brought his hands into play, wrapping a fist around Cal's length and tugging gently down on the foreskin as he suckled the sensitive head. His right hand delved down behind Cal's balls, spit-slick and searching as the fingertips ghosted along his perineum.

Cal was so close already. Perpetually frustrated and accustomed to jerking off quickly with little preamble, the stimulation the other man was providing was nigh unbearable. He felt like he would come down Hannibal's throat in mere moments, bringing the night's proceedings to an end. "Fuck," he said, panting as he twisted the bedspread in clenched fists. "Wait, I'm going to..."

Hannibal relaxed his suction, allowed his teeth to graze along the underside of Cal's cock as he raised his head. "You're not going to come," he said, voice harsh. His fingers kept exploring, trailing teasing circles around the younger man's twitching hole. "Not yet. Is that clear?"

He didn't know for sure what the other man was planning, but the gentle motion of his fingers should have been a clear indication. In his lust-fogged state, he still found it in himself to gasp in shock as one slick digit breached the outer rim of muscle and slipped inside him to the second knuckle.

His hole clenched around the intrusion as he arched off the bed. "H-Hannibal!" The cry was guttural, almost involuntary. He had imagined fucking another man in his time, but in his fantasies he had always been the giver rather than the recipient.

"Look at me," Hannibal commanded, as a second finger joined the first. He worked them in and out, teasing against the rim as he coaxed the muscles to relax. "I want to see you."

"It's just so..." Cal's words were barely comprehensible, distracted as he was by the strange feeling of being stretched in this unfamiliar way. The fingers curved inside him in a beckoning gesture, brushing against something that set his nerves ablaze, made his legs shake and his cock twitch.

"You've never done this before, have you?" A close and intimate murmur as Hannibal pressed himself over Cal's body, nosing along his jaw and nipping at his ear.

"No," Cal exhaled. Hannibal kept teasing at his prostate, building a sort of eye-rolling teeth-clenching pleasure that Cal had never experienced before.

"Oh, but you're so good at it. You're right on the edge, I can see. But I could do this for hours." Hannibal spoke in a low and husky growl as Cal's untouched cock twitched and leaked between them. "Would you like that, hm?"

"No," Cal gasped. His thighs were quaking with involuntary muscle spasms as he lunged against his metaphorical leash, desperate to chase his release. "Touch me, please."

"You're going to need to beg harder." Harsh and intimate, biting bruises into Cal's neck.

Cal turned to meet him, to lick into the other man's mouth and tangle their tongues together. Even if he had to spend the next month locked in one of those little white rooms at the Compound to atone for this, he still needed it. Even if it meant solid weeks of nothing but psychotropic green juice, crying and pacing with electrodes strapped to his temples, he still wanted it. "Please. Touch me, bite me, fuck me, whatever you want to do. Just give me this."

Hannibal's eyes grew even darker as he basked in Cal's surrender. His fingers inside Cal's body sped, thrust deeper, stretched him wide. "That's better," Hannibal said, and he hunched down over Cal's lap to take the heavy weight of his cock deep, deep inside his throat. Tilting his eyes upward, he watched as the relentless slide of his fingers and the heavy suction of his mouth took Cal apart.

With so much stimulation, it didn't take long. Cal came with a wordless cry, body tensing as he spurted a hot flood of semen into the other man's mouth. His head was singing with radio static, and he saw the light. Not the pure and transcendendent 'Light' of the Meyerists, but a blinding and obliterating whiteness. A light of destruction, and a light of rebirth. Hannibal withdrew his fingers, and Cal whimpered from the overstimulation as the older man continued to lick at the head of his deflating cock, sucking down every last drop of his come. Finally, he lifted his head and stretched up, clasping a fist around his own shaft and jerking with frantic intensity.

Cal lolled against the head of the bed, dazed and delirious in his post-orgasmic haze as he watched Hannibal masturbate furiously above him, flushed and beaded with sweat. His lips formed a single word, "Will," and he came with a shudder, spraying slippery ropes of come across Cal's chest.

Hannibal collapsed on top of Cal and they lay there together. Warm, sated, and sticky. As he allowed his eyes to drop closed, succumbing to the lure of sleep, Cal could have sworn he felt the wetness of tears on the older man's face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! That was a long chapter, compared to some of the others. Apologies for the delay, folks. A combination of university assignments due all at once and a whole bunch of work stuff really made it tough to find time to write over the last couple of weeks. It turned out a lot smuttier than I expected, but it was a nice surprise.
> 
> One wrapping-up chapter to go, I think, although I may decide to amp up the filth and take it further should there be interest.
> 
> It's kinda late right now so there'll be tons of mistakes, but I'll reread it in the morning and cringe. Probably.
> 
> Anyway. Hope you liked it, and as always I am happy for any kind of feedback you'd like to provide, whether it be kudos, comments or rude fart noises.


	4. Revelation

After a brief nap they showered together, an unexpected and surprising intimacy that Hannibal insisted on. It was almost as if he were afraid to leave Cal alone, lest he regain his senses and fly suddenly into the night. It was the memory of tears on his shoulder that led him into the mildewed shower with the other man, the way that Hannibal had whispered the name of his beloved at the moment of climax. Not quite the same as the pity that had driven Cal to stay for tea, but it was somewhere along the same continuum. He felt sorry for Hannibal, because it distracted him from feeling sorry for himself. 

Cal allowed Hannibal to wash him, lather his skin with cheap motel soap and clean away the mingled sweat and bodily fluids, the evidence of their shared exertions. He allowed his fingers to run across the hard planes of Cal's body and Cal found himself relaxing into the touch, all too happy to return the favour when Hannibal turned under the warm spray to wash himself.

Hands slippery with soap, Cal massaged Hannibal's shoulders and back. Without conscious intention, his fingers traced the edges of a raised circular scar on the other man's spine, intrigued by the textural contrast of the puckered skin. Hannibal stiffened slightly at the touch but did not resist or speak, instead allowing Cal to rinse the soap from his body, leaving him clean.

Pink and drowsy from interrupted sleep and the heat of the shower, Hannibal handed Cal a towel before drying himself off. He seemed thoughtful, melancholic. "Will you stay?" He asked, finally.

Cal knew he should head onward, return to the compound and the challenges that awaited him, but it was still so early. "Until morning," he replied, ruffling his short hair with the threadbare towel. "If that's okay."

"Of course." The older man folded his towel and hung it from the plastic rail, face placid. Cal wasn't sure if he was disappointed or relieved. "I understand. Your people are waiting for you." 

Hannibal brushed past Cal to get out of the bathroom. Cal could hear the rustling of sheets as he climbed into the bed, still naked unless he had somehow dressed at supernatural speed.

Cal hung his towel on a hook and followed the other man. He felt those searching eyes alight on his body but he was strangely unconcerned after the things they had just done together. He was unused to sleeping naked but he figured that it would be rude to put his underwear back on, to reestablish the unnecessary boundary of clothing. He clambered between the cool sheets, keeping an arm's length between the two of them as he arranged the pillows beneath his head. Without a word he closed his eyes, and slept.

It was morning when Cal's dreamless slumber was broken by a harsh and insistent banging on the door. Wrenched unceremoniously from sleep, he became aware of the warmth pressed against him and the heavy weight of a possessive arm around his waist. Consciousness supplied context as the man beside him huffed a sleepy sigh against his neck. "Hey," he said, shifting against Hannibal's solid presence, unwilling to open his eyes.

He could tell that the other man had awoken when he rolled away from Cal's side, yawning quietly as he climbed out of the bed. The knocking still issued from outside in short, impatient bursts as Hannibal padded across the room, and had Cal been more alert he would have found the energy to be concerned about who was on the other side of the door. 

Cal heard the rustle of clothing as Hannibal retrieved his shirt and probably his underwear, hiding his nakedness. "Who the hell," Cal murmured, answered not by words but by the clinking sound as Hannibal unfastened the chain on the door and swung the portal open.

"Good morning," Hannibal said into the darkness behind Cal's eyelids. He spoke in a tone of fond familiarity.

"You were supposed to meet me an hour ago," said a male voice, just beyond the threshold.

"I lost track of time," Hannibal replied, standing aside as the newcomer shouldered past him into the room. Hannibal swung the door closed, reaffixed the security chain and locked the door. It was this last sound that brought Cal back into full consciousness, the finality of the lock clicking into place. He gazed across the small room, vision clearing to resolve the shape of Hannibal standing semi-clothed against the wall, and another dark-haired man, bundled in a heavy overcoat, his back toward the bed. The stranger was so intent on Hannibal he didn't even seem to register Cal's presence in the room.

"Well, I traced your cell," the stranger said. "Phones can do that, now."

Hannibal raised his eyebrows, amused. "I am aware," he said dryly. "I may have been isolated, but I haven't been on another planet all these years."

The stranger sighed, exasperated. "You could have left me a message, told me where you were. Too busy sleeping?"

Cal shifted in the bed, wishing he could burrow even further under the covers. He wasn't entirely sure how he would get out of this situation with his dignity intact, and the calm manner in which Hannibal had invited the man into the room wasn't helping matters. Clearly, maintaining Cal's discretion wasn't among his concerns. 

"Mostly sleeping," Hannibal replied in a tone of amusement. From the way the intruder stiffened, Cal could see the moment he became aware that they weren't alone. With painful slowness he turned, and the immediate jolt of recognition Cal felt as he looked at the man's countenance was like a punch in the gut.

His face, confused and shocked, on another man's body. _Will. This must be Will._

He wasn't alone in feeling so disconcerted. "Jesus, Hannibal." Will breathed the words, stepping almost involuntarily toward the bed. As he came closer, Cal saw differences that served less to reassure him and more to emphasise the strangeness of this meeting. Will was an imperfect mirror. His hair was longer, falling in a loose and dishevelled curl around his face, and he wore a fledgling beard while Cal was clean-shaven. He had scars too, Cal saw, a small white line that punctuated his forehead and a twisted dark gash on one cheek, still in the process of healing and barely covered by his rough stubble. He sat down on the bed, shaking slightly, watching Cal for another slack-jawed moment before he dragged his eyes back toward Hannibal.

Given Hannibal's state of undress and the way Cal pulled the bedspread tight around his naked form, he was obviously putting two and two together. "Are you kidding me?" A surprised bark of laughter, honed to an edge.

"You are angry." Hannibal didn't move from the wall, standing straight and tall in his unbuttoned shirt and briefs.

"Understatement of the century," Will - if this was indeed Will - replied. He glanced back to Cal, who lay uncomfortably still, lips pulled into a sullen line. "I was worried that you were dead or captured, and here you were, violating the cult leader."

Cal jolted upright, spurred both by the utterance of the hateful word and the realisation that the other man knew who he was. "Not a cult," he spat. "And I should go."

Will placed a firm hand on his chest, easing him back down onto the bed. His eyes were calm, but the strength of his hand was a warning. "You should definitely stay. We haven't been properly introduced. I'm Will."

Cal tried to determine his chances of getting away, but two against one was a challenge. Besides, Hannibal stood between him and the door.

"Cal Roberts," Cal said, his throat dry and his heartbeat racing. "Thought you were dead."

Will watched Cal speak with a kind of awe, somewhat akin to the way Hannibal had on their first meeting, but without the burning undercurrent of lust. He smiled coldly. "He told you that, did he?"

"He assumed." Hannibal stretched, moved to seat himself on the end of the bed with dancer's grace.

"Guess that you had to use some sort of sob story to get him in the sack," Will remarked. The way he held himself with dry self-assurance seemed to be a mirror of Hannibal. As if he fed on the older man's mannerisms, the souvenir of a long and close association. "Or, did you drug him?"

 _The tea. Of course._ Cal issued a strangled sort of sob as he pulled himself out of Will's grip and scrambled madly across the bed, bolting toward the door. It was a long shot, a desperate play, and he didn't make it far before Hannibal tackled him to the ground.

"No drugs," Hannibal said, voice remaining maddeningly even as Cal struggled beneath him, pinned face-down by Hannibal's weight. "Just a cup of tea."

"Tea," Will echoed, dubiously.

"It's quite good," Hannibal replied conversationally, settling down on Cal's naked body and grinding his entirely unimpressed cock on the rough carpet. "A base of rooibos with ginseng, yohimbe bark and a touch of damiana."

"Sounds like a mixture they'd stock at some godawful alternative medicine shop," remarked Will. "Right next to the horny goat weed." He was moving, walking around the bed toward them.

"A stimulating blend, yes." Cal could hear the smile in Hannibal's voice. The smug bastard. "But I assure you that he was lucid throughout." He paused, relishing his position of power. "Our activities were entirely consensual, Will. Does that bother you more or less than the thought that I had - to use your lewd terminology - violated our friend here?"

"Not your friend," offered Cal, a little bit peeved at being talked over by this dysfunctional pair. "Also, fuck you."

Will did not speak. Unable to see the other man with his head forced down on the carpet, Cal could only imagine what unspoken communications were passing between them. Hannibal continued, his voice soft. "I have abided by your wishes. You made your lack of interest clear when you told me to do as I wanted, with whomever I wanted. You asked for this."

"Well, you certainly outdid yourself on the creative problem solving, Dr Lecter." His voice was cold and violently bitter, like old coffee left too long to brew. "You planned this from the outset, I gather?"

A planned seduction. A trap. Cal felt sick, his stomach churning. _Wait._

"Lecter." He whispered, barely audible. Suddenly faint and unspeakably dizzy, he stopped struggling under the weight of the other man. "Hannibal Lecter."

The notorious serial killer grasped him by the hair, yanked his head sideways and peered into his eyes. "Oh, so you have heard of me, then. I wasn't sure if you followed the news."

"Of course he does." Will replied, perched on the edge of the bed, looking down at his doppelgänger with a hooded gaze. "Doomsday cults thrive on tales of destruction and mayhem, Hannibal."

Cal didn't waste his breath by repeating that it was a Movement rather than a cult. Somehow that seemed unimportant at this point in time. "You're not dead, then." Cal said uselessly.

"We are all of us alive," Hannibal said. "At least for the moment. I trust you understand your current predicament."

"It's starting to become clear." Cal said, numbly. He was starting to think that he might be in shock. Dr Hannibal Lecter. The Chesapeake Ripper. The man who had reportedly killed and eaten dozens of people, perhaps more. He was in illustrious company.

"I'd like us to sit down and have a civilised conversation." Hannibal's voice was reasonable, even as his fingers wound painfully in Cal's short hair. "If you wouldn't be averse."

"You act as if he had a choice in the matter," Will said mildly, crossing his legs as he watched his friend terrorise the naked man.

"There are always options," Hannibal said, his voice a low purring rumble. "Our choices are what define us as men. Wouldn't you agree, Calvin?"

"You're right, Hannibal." Will tapped one foot on the carpet. "His choice is to be defined as a living man, or a dead man."

Cal was fairly positive that he wanted to be a living man, if it was at all possible. "May I dress?"

"Certainly." Hannibal released his grip on Cal's hair, running his fingers through the short locks at the back of the younger man's head in an almost affectionate way before he stood.

Cal got shakily to his feet, constantly fearful that his legs would buckle underneath him. He could sense Will's eyes on his naked form as he retrieved his crumpled clothes and he felt filthy, degraded.

"Would anyone care for a drink?" Hannibal was in gracious host mode, comfortable and confident even in his semi-clothed state.

"No tea, if that's what you're offering." Will smiled cruelly, watching Cal with mild interest as he struggled into his underwear.

"I brought some scotch," Hannibal said. "I wasn't sure if Calvin was a drinker. Given his lineage, I hazarded a guess."

Cal's hands shook as he pulled on his wrinkled shirt. So, Hannibal knew he was the child of an alcoholic. At least his research was sound. "I don't drink," he said.

"It's ten o'clock in the morning," Will added.

"That hasn't stopped you before, Will." He spoke sunnily. "So, black tea? Instant coffee?" He picked up the kettle, taking it with him to the bathroom as Will bent to rummage in the cabinet for the box of coffee-making supplies.

Cal paused in the middle of buttoning his pants, freezing as some primal part of him recognised a rare opportunity. _Now or never._ He surged in the general direction of the door, relying on his reflexes to catch Will off guard. He didn't count on the possibility that Will had been watching him from the corner of his eye, untrusting of the familiar-faced stranger.

Will straightened with fluid grace, blocking Cal's attempt to sidestep him. Without hesitation he threw a single decisive blow, fist connecting with Cal's jaw with a meaty thump.

Cal was glass-jawed, unprepared and phenomenally unlucky. He lost consciousness before he even hit the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muahahahaha.
> 
> Halfway considered leaving this fic as a stand-alone interlude between two supremely messed-up individuals, but I couldn't help myself. 
> 
> Hannibal, u lil shit.
> 
> Hmm. Have I gone too far? Should I go farther? Let me know. My filthy mind can conjure far worse things to come. ;)


	5. Synthesis

Someone was snoring, a painful and rattling passage of breath. As soon as Cal became aware of the noise it stopped, but he could still feel the vibration in his skull. An odd feeling, like turning toward a mirror and catching your own reflection by surprise. A duality, the waking self chasing the sleeping self's tail.

"Did you need to be so rough?" Careful fingers, skilled and swift, prodded at the muscles of Cal's jawline and ran along the ridge of bone. Pressure sparked agony, instantaneous and exquisite, rousing Cal into a hazy consciousness. "I fear his jaw may be broken."

He could feel the whisper of the bedsheet against his bare chest and thighs, and he knew that his shirt and pants had been taken from him. Only his underwear remained as a minor concession to dignity. The sockets of his shoulders ached, arms pulled up above his head. It was hard to assess his surroundings over the background noise of the throbbing pain that radiated from his jaw, but from the encircling pressure around his wrists he was able to determine that he was tied to the wooden frame of the bed. His legs were strapped tightly together, and when he wriggled his feet there was no give in the bindings. Not tape, there was no telltale tugging against his leg hair as he moved. Nylon rope, perhaps. Something smooth and strong.

"It seemed necessary." Cal opened his eyes, looking up at the concerned face of Hannibal Lecter and the slightly less-than-concerned face of Will Graham. "Would you have preferred to let him turn you in?" 

"Your concern for my continued wellbeing is touching, Will." His fingers were moving in light circular patterns at the edges of Cal's face, testing the bone. He pressed at the hollows beneath the younger man's ears. "Is that tender?"

"Yes." It hurt to move his mouth, but at least he was capable of speech. A small favour, but he wouldn't be forced to beg for his life using sign language or blinking in morse code.

Will's face hovered in the periphery of Cal's vision, staring unwaveringly at the back of Hannibal's head. "Hannibal, I-"

The doctor was tense, as if he were waiting for something. An apology, a declaration, a rejection. He concentrated on the press of his fingertips against Cal's mandibular ridge. "Open up," he said.

Cal flushed, recalling the last time these words had been spoken to him. The hot slide of the other man's cock between his lips, the taste of salt and musk on his tongue. This would have been a memory to savour, but it was tainted now. He slowly opened his mouth at Hannibal's insistence, bracing himself for a resurgence of pain.

"Good boy," Hannibal said, his eyes flashing with a momentary heat as he tested the movement of Cal's jaw. It didn't actually hurt all that much, Cal was relieved to discover. "Now bite. Let me see your teeth."

A lesser man would attempt to bite Hannibal's fingers off, but Cal figured that such a gesture would be poorly received.

"Perhaps you should give him something to bite down on," Will remarked dryly, noting Cal's hesitation and clearly thinking along similar lines. "I'd suggest your dick."

Cal snorted with sudden laughter at Hannibal's flushed discomposure. In response, Hannibal scowled and dug his fingertips firmly into Cal's sore muscles, prompting his obedience. Cal closed his jaw, baring his bloodstained teeth as the doctor examined his bite.

"It's not broken, luckily. Although it may be sore for a week or two." 

The words were hardly a promise, but Cal dared to hope. At this moment, at least, Hannibal saw him alive for at least a week or two more.

Hannibal hesitated before turning to Will. "You should shower, and shave."

"You still want to go ahead with this lunacy?" Will asked, dubiously.

"Of course." Hannibal stood, rummaging through the jumble of belongings in his small duffel bag. "Take a good look at him, Will. Tell me I'm wrong."

Will locked eyes with the bound man on the bed, frustration and pity warring for dominance on his features. "In the pictures, the interview, he didn't seem so..." He gestured expansively, searching for a word to express the uncanny likeness.

"We become so accustomed to the face we see in the mirror every day, it can be disconcerting to see ourselves through the eyes of another. Believe me, the resemblance is more than adequate." Hannibal pulled a rolled towel from his bag and unfolded it on the bed. A bundle of tools, scissors and combs, a set of clippers. He lifted a razor from the pile, and pressed it into Will's hand. "You will need to lose the beard."

Will seemed to be searching for something in Hannibal's face, but found only a solemn determination, a grim reserve that only vanished when Will turned his back to leave. At the click of the closing bathroom door, Hannibal's knees buckled and he sank heavily onto the bed. 

The squealing of pipes filled the room, and the sound of falling water. Hannibal stared distractedly at the wall, and Cal shifted restlessly on the bed. The silence stretched, became awkward. Cal cleared his throat. "Your friend throws a mean punch."

Hannibal glanced over at Cal as if he had forgotten the other man was there. His lips curled in a tender smile. "He once beat a man to death with his bare hands," he said slowly, in a tone both proud and wistful. "Does that scare you?"

Cal was hardly a slouch himself when it came to fisticuffs. If he hadn't been caught off guard by his lookalike, he judged that they would be pretty evenly matched. "If you wanted me dead, I'd be dead," Cal responded, in a wet and choked voice. His damaged mouth was filling with blood, so he spat onto the bedspread. "You need me alive for something, and it's not just to fuck."

Hannibal glanced at the spreading spot of bloody saliva on the pale and faded cotton, showing only mild surprise. Even with his shirt half-buttoned, his long hair in disarray and a distinct lack of pants, he still looked distinctly dangerous. "Bluff and bluster. You are less afraid of what we would do to you than the idea that these actions would be performed without meaning. You fear that unjustified violence will render you insignificant." His hands cupped Cal's face with casual intimacy. "If you seek a grand motivation, my reasons may disappoint."

Cal wrenched his head to the side in an effort to break the gentle connection between them, to escape the intensity of Hannibal's closeness. He was unable to suppress a moan as pain flared in his injured face.

A smile ghosted across Hannibal's features. "Why do you think I lured you, Cal?"

"You've made it clear that it's not due to some evil master plan," Cal said. He shifted against the pillows, trying to ease the pressure on his straining shoulders. As he strove to settle into a more comfortable position, he became aware of a looseness in the binding on his right hand, the tiniest amount of give. Hardly something he could act on with Hannibal watching, but he tried to keep his cool. "I'm going to go with... Poor impulse control?"

"My friend Will has a particular gift," Hannibal glanced toward the closed bathroom door, the white noise of the shower. "An empathy disorder that grants him the ability to place himself in the shoes of practically anyone. See the world through their eyes. Slip on their personality, much as one would wear a suit of clothes." He paused expectantly. "Do you see?"

An idea sparked in Cal's brain, both disturbing and ludicrous. Hannibal, amused by the concerned furrow of the younger man's brow, continued. "Cal Roberts will leave this room today, and he will return to the Meyerist compound." He wrapped a hand around the back of Cal's head, kneading the tense muscles of his neck. "He may stay, or he may only remain for long enough to wrap up his affairs."

It seemed so ridiculous, but Cal still felt a chill down his spine, the prickling of gooseflesh. Will Graham meant to take his place. A changeling amidst his flock, one who would destroy the dominion he had so carefully cultivated. "And what of me?" He asked.

Hannibal smiled. "What of you?"

"You know, he could take my passport. My money." Bargaining. It was a sad attempt, but Cal tried to keep his voice even. "He could disappear, and I wouldn't say a word. I swear."

"Perhaps I mean to keep you near. A toy, to be used and discarded as I wish." Hannibal's voice was low and insidious. "Kept bound, slowly broken. A diversion, to dull the pain of losing Will."

"No," said Cal. The warmth of the other man's breath against his ear stirred something inside his body, an instinctual response to the intimacy of his touch. "That would be too crude for you. It would lack the necessary panache."

"You underestimate my capacity for vulgarity," Hannibal chuckled. He swung his leg around, clambering onto the bed to straddle Cal's hips. His hands clasped Cal's face once more, digging into the sore muscles and commanding his attention. "You have no chips to bargain, no control over your fate. You asked for this."

"I didn't ask to die," Cal murmured, sullen.

Hannibal shuddered, dipping his head close as he spoke. "You will. When death stares you in the face, sooner or later you will want to stare back." The idea of subjugating Cal clearly aroused him. He pressed his weight against Cal's body, kissing him fiercely. Cal groaned into his mouth, half in pain and half in despair at his body's response to Hannibal's onslaught.

He knew it was twisted. The very thought of becoming a hollow and nameless shell of a man while another walked in his place. The thought of becoming the captive sex slave of a cannibal. Between these two imaginings, there was nothing that should have excited him. All the same, he felt a physical stirring that told him at least one portion of his anatomy was interested in this turn of events. Maybe Hannibal had been right. Maybe a loss of control was what he needed to let go of his inhibitions. Maybe he was just a lot more fucked up than he thought he was.

With his last reserves of defiance Cal bit down on Hannibal's lip, reopening the split in the swollen flesh. Hannibal jerked away from him, blood trickling steadily from the wound. He looked wild, almost feral, as he swiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

"You reek of desperation." Cal's words were bitter with the taste of their mingled blood, and he revelled in it. There was clarity in his pain, and anger. "Mourning the loss of someone who isn't even gone yet. For fuck's sake, he's right here. He's in the other room." Cal paused, breathing heavily. "You exert control over me because you can't control him. It's sick."

Hannibal stared down at the bound man. Behind the fire in his eyes, there was something raw, bleeding and vulnerable. He opened his mouth to speak, but the sound wouldn't come.

The room was so silent, the two of them suspended in time. Cal exhaled a harsh sigh. "You can't bear that he's leaving, but you won't do a thing to prevent it. Does he even know?"

The bathroom door opened, and Will emerged. "What should I know?" His wet curls were plastered to his scalp and he only wore a threadbare towel, hanging low on his hips. He had shaved his beard, and the dark red scar stood out like an expressive brushstroke against the smoothness of his cheek.

Hannibal's expression paled. Neither had heard when the water stopped falling, too caught in the drama of the moment. Cal wondered how much Will had heard from the other room.

"Will," Hannibal said, as he slid off the bed with a clumsy urgency that was far from his usual grace.

"Oh, don't let me interrupt," Will remarked coldly. "It sounded like you were just getting to the good stuff."

"Whatever you think you heard..." Hannibal started, seemingly unsure whether to approach Will or keep the same awkward distance. "Please allow me to explain."

Will rubbed distractedly at his hair with a small towel. He had gotten out of the shower in a hurry, and water still trickled down his naked and hairless chest. Just above his navel, a long white scar curved across his abdomen. Cal looked at him and he saw a cracked mirror, eerily similar yet damaged by the vagaries of circumstance. Should he steal Cal's life, if such a thing were possible, only these scars would give him away. "Save your breath. The walls are thin," he said with wearied disgust. "And put some goddamn pants on, Dr Lecter. You're far too underdressed for false sincerity."

Hannibal glanced down at his bare legs, as if only just recalling his semi-clothed state. He looked back at Will, lips pressed in a thin line. "You're far too underdressed for wilful misunderstanding," he replied.

"At least we still seem to have the capacity to be cruel to one another." Will ceased scrubbing at his hair and tossed the hand-towel onto the bed. He exhaled harshly and audibly, smoothing his towel-dried locks with his fingers. "I can't do this," he said. "I won't."

"I don't wish to argue with you, Will." Hannibal took a tentative step toward him.

"No, I mean-" Will searched for the words, frustrated. He gestured with both hands as if to encompass the whole of the room, the whole of the situation. "This. All of this. The kidnap, the ridiculous identity switch. It's like something out of a bad movie. And I won't do it."

The air in the room was heavy, charged with the electricity of a coming storm. The scent of petrichor. The others were distracted, so Cal used the opportunity to twist his wrist, working the fleshy width of his hand past the tight loops of smooth rope with excruciating slowness.

"What do you want, Will?"

"Since when was this ever about what I wanted?" Will's hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. "Stop punishing me."

Hannibal eyed him solemnly, his eyes sparkling with moisture. "I am far kinder to you than I have been to myself. I stole your life from you, it is only right that I purchase you another."

Will moved, closing the distance between himself and the older man. "If I'd wanted to, I could have gone back to my life, after-" He hesitated, the inciting event unspoken. The violent shared death, the rebirth from the waves. "I stayed. Even though you were cold and distant. Even though you made it clear that you no longer..." He trailed off. "If you want me to go, if you truly want it, then I'll go."

Cal's hand slipped loose and he exhaled a quiet sigh of relief as the circulation returned to his fingers. Moving discreetly, he scratched at the itching crust of blood on his chin.

"I only want what is best for you." Hannibal lingered less than a step away from Will, resisting the urge to touch. Cal admired his restraint. He was hardly the most sexually forward man on the planet, but had he been Hannibal in this moment he would be making friends with Will's tonsils by now. It was odd, and perhaps kinda sweet, to contrast Hannibal's shy reserve with his demanding, dominant behaviour of the night before. 

Will gave a small, bitter chuckle. "It doesn't seem like my happiness is among your concerns. Did you think it would make me happy to see you here with him? Wallowing in self-satisfaction, in a room that reeks of sex?"

He glanced over at Cal, who was idly rubbing at his face with his free hand. A crust of flaking blood had gathered under his fingernails. He paused, freezing under the sudden scrutiny. "Should I go?" He asked, feeling strangely emboldened. "This conversation seems kind of private."

Will smirked, brushing past Hannibal to move toward the bed. Cal held up his free hand. "Rope was loose," he said, feeling as if he were channelling someone else with his words. Someone more headstrong. Eddie, perhaps. "I had an itch."

"Hannibal used to be such a good host," Will said. He climbed onto the bed, his towel flapping with the movement and threatening to come adrift. He grasped Cal's wrist, trailing his fingertips over the pale blue veins under the skin. "Me, not so much. I still feel an obligation to make amends. Would it help if I apologised for our behaviour?"

"Not really," Cal replied, his voice sounding shakier and less confident than he had hoped. "Say you won't kill me, and I might consider calling it even."

"I don't want to kill you," Will said. It wasn't exactly reassuring. Will might not be inclined toward violence but he was certainly capable of it, should the need arise.

"You could let me go, perhaps."

Will appeared to be considering it. "Not quite yet, Cal. Anything else?"

Although Cal felt a sinking in his stomach at Will's reply, he kept his face neutral. Will smelled of soap and cheap motel shampoo, but Cal didn't find himself repulsed by these artificial scents. He probably smelled much the same. Identical in looks, identical in smell. Strangely, it was a turn-on to be held down like this by his lookalike. He wondered if this made him a narcissist. He cleared his throat. "Well, I still have an itch."

Will settled back on his haunches, sitting right on top of Cal's awakening erection. A sudden glint in his eye seemed to indicate he was aware of it, or perhaps it was all in Cal's imagination. He still held Cal's hand, and he ran his thumb over the smooth skin absentmindedly. "Me too," he said.

"Will," said Hannibal, motionless beside the bed.

Will ignored him, cocking his head to the side as he studied Cal's face. "The blood tickles like crazy when it dries. Is it yours?"

"Some of it," replied Cal.

Will shifted his body infinitesimally, the towel-clad cheeks of his ass rubbing firmly against Cal's stiffening cock. "Want me to clean that up for you?"

Cal started to become aware of what Will was suggesting. Entirely unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. Even beyond his body's unconscious response to the slow frottage, he found himself curious enough to throw caution to the wind. As Will gently released his wrist he pressed a shaking hand onto the other man's thigh. "Yes," he said breathlessly. Half in show, half in earnest.

Will swooped in without further warning, laving his tongue across Cal's bloody cheek in a long wet swipe. A surprised, strangled sound issued from across the room.

Will pulled away, tasting the blood on his tongue as he watched Cal with dark eyes. He whipped the towel from his waist and started to scrub at the blood on Cal's face with the rough fabric. Cal's breath seized in his throat, overwhelmed by the naked proximity of the other man. Between Will's legs, jutting from the moist tangle of his pubic hair, his sizeable dick was stirring to attention. Cal made an appreciative noise, his open palm creeping up the stretch of Will's taut thigh.

Hannibal issued a pained groan as he watched the men grind against one another, and the noise only served to spur them on. The heat of their bodies was separated only by the thin sheet and Cal's straining underwear, and Cal wanted these barriers gone, wanted to press himself full-length against Will's sweat-slick skin. He knew that Will was only using him to hurt Hannibal, but he didn't care. It would be nice to watch the doctor suffer, after he had so blithely awakened this thirst within Cal. After he had so casually unleashed this lustful, snarling beast.

Cal slid his fingers around to cup Will's buttock, digging his nails roughly into the flesh. Will smiled, tossing the towel away to kiss Cal hungrily. His fingers fumbled at the rope that bound Cal's left hand to the bedhead, picking at the knot blindly. Cal could feel the light stubble of his chin as it rasped against Will's smooth face, the puckered and dark flesh of the scar on his cheek. Will plundered his mouth with an eager tongue and he writhed beneath the other man, as much as his bound legs would allow.

Blood rushed to his hand as it was freed, and Cal reached out to grab, to drag closer. His fingers met only open air as Hannibal swiftly grasped Will around the waist and yanked him backward with a grunt.

Will sprawled on the bed, crushing Cal's legs beneath him as he twisted to face Hannibal. The older man clambered over him, eyes full of fire. "What reaction are you trying to elicit, Will?"

By way of response, Will reached up to touch Hannibal's face, fingertips lingering on Hannibal's cheek before tentatively brushing over the soft swell of his lips. A deep, rumbling growl issued from Hannibal, and he dipped in to cover Will's mouth with his own.

It was barely a kiss at all, a brief testing peck on the lips from a man who obviously thought he would be rebuffed at any moment. Even while Will lay naked and wanton beneath him, he had doubts. There was history in his hesitance, pain of the past. Will gasped into his mouth, rolling against him like a wave, and the kiss deepened.

Even with his hands unbound, Cal could hardly get away while the weight of the other men kept him pinned. He twitched, eyes fixed upon the scene spread out before him.

Will kissed Hannibal with enthusiastic abandon, as Hannibal clung to him like a drowning man. Fingers grabbed, squeezed, kneaded at form muscles and ghosted over scars. When Hannibal finally wrenched himself away he could barely breathe, chest heaving and eyes glazed with moisture. "Will, I didn't think that you-"

"Stop thinking," Will replied, as he wound a hand around Hannibal's firmly-muscled back, clutching at the fabric of his shirt. "We've wasted too much time already. Look at what we have, right now. Be here with me."

Hannibal's fingers unbuttoned his shirt with feverish haste, his eyes fixed on the man beneath him as if he were afraid that Will were a mirage that would vanish should he look away or blink. He claimed Will's mouth again as he tore the shirt from his shoulders and flung it aside. 

Will tangled one hand in the length of Hannibal's hair and tugged sharply, eliciting another growl from the older man, who licked and nibbled at his lips. Will's free hand flailed and grasped at the bedclothes, seeking something to hold onto. Shortly after, he found what he was looking for. 

Cal gasped in shock as Will's hand discovered his trapped erection, fingers curling around his length and kneading the swollen and sensitive flesh. Without even looking, Will made his intention clear as he tugged at the sheet. Cal hastened to comply, pulling the sheet away from his bare torso and allowing the thin cotton to pool just below the juncture of his thighs. 

Without further preamble, Will's fingers found the waistband of Cal's briefs and yanked them down to expose Cal's weeping cock. He broke away from Hannibal then, panting, and crawled up the bed on hands and knees until his face was level with Cal's groin.

Will wrapped his hand around Cal, stroking up and down with an infuriating lightness, his fingers barely brushing against the soft skin. "I had hoped you were smaller than me," he said with a glint in his eye. "Petty, I know. But I think we're about the same. Not that I ever see my own dick from this angle. It's so strange."

"Are you saying my dick is strange, or-" Cal was cut short as the wetness of Will's mouth closed over his cock, suckling and tonguing at the engorged head. "Fuck."

Will lifted his head, displaying a lewd grin at Cal's reaction. "Do you think we're related?" He asked, slowly rubbing Cal's shaft with a dry, delicious friction.

"I hope not," Cal said. "If that was the case, you shouldn't be sucking my cock."

"I don't intend to stop." Will swallowed him down, then, taking as much of Cal down his throat as he could handle. His tongue applied a firm pressure on the veiny underside of the organ as he started to bob up and down, and he kept a firm and insistent suction. If Will had never given head before, he was certainly a natural.

Cal wished more than anything that his legs were free so he had the leverage to fuck up into Will's mouth. He whimpered, grasping the bed beneath him with both hands, as the hot tightness of Will's throat flexed around him.

Hannibal, unwilling to simply observe the two men together, had taken an opportunity to participate. His long fingers dug into the cheeks of Will's ass as he spread him apart, and he was in the process of laving Will's crack with long, sloppy strokes of his tongue.

Will moaned deeply, the firm suction of his mouth conducting the vibration into the other man's cock, and he lifted his hips to give Hannibal better access to the tender line of flesh behind his balls. Over the harsh rhythm of his own breath, even over the noise of Will's enthusiastic exertions, Cal could hear the wet smacks, the satisfied slurps of sheer enjoyment from Hannibal. It was gloriously obscene, shockingly intimate, and this pornographic soundtrack had a definite effect on Cal. He found himself nearing the edge far quicker than he had expected, toes curling in anticipation.

Will came up for breath, and Cal's spit-lathed cock slipped out of his mouth with a soft wet pop. "Hannibal-" he said, as the older man's tongue danced around his sensitive rim. "Please, Hannibal, I want..."

Hannibal pressed his thumb against Will's entrance, teasing the fluttering ring of muscle. The moment that the slick digit slipped into his body, Will's face changed. His eyes rolled back, lost in transcendent sensation, and he gripped Cal's cock harder. "That feels so-" he panted, turning his head to glance at Hannibal. He looked as if he were in shock at his own words. "Fuck me, Hannibal. Please."

The doctor made an unintelligible noise, overcome by the request. His hair hung loose and tangled around his face, and his face was wet with tears and spittle and smears of blood. He looked barbaric, broken, undone. "Will," he said, licking his lips. "Are you sure?"

"I want to know what it feels like," Will replied with raw honesty. "I want you to have a glimpse at what you're so eager to throw away."

Hannibal issued a tortured moan and bent to his task once more. Beneath him, Will groaned as Hannibal worked his hole open with his fingers and thumbs and wicked tongue, and the rhythm of his hand on Cal's dripping cock became jerky and rough. Cal cried out in pain as Will's hand yanked on his dick at a punishing pace. When Will's palm closed over the tip and buffed at the red, swollen flesh, he spilled over the edge. Cal gave a shout, spraying hot ropes of come onto Will's face.

When Hannibal heard the sound of Cal's release he wasted no time in manhandling Will onto his back. He fell heavily onto the bed beside Cal, watching the older man with hungry anticipation as Hannibal rid himself of his underwear. His dick was hard, bobbing against his belly, and the swollen head that peeked from beneath his foreskin was dripping with pre-come.

Will let out a sigh, glancing over at Cal. His face was flushed and streaked with pearly white. Capitalising on his limited freedom of movement, Cal surged against his bonds to kiss those all-too-familiar lips, tasting the salt and bitter musk of his own release on the other man's face. 

Will jolted, moaning, as Hannibal hoisted his legs and spread them wide, bending him nearly in half so he could join the kiss, licking against Cal's mouth, against Will's. Even though he was still reeling from the aftershocks of his orgasm, Cal could not help but feel a resurgence of lust as Hannibal took himself in hand and guided the slick, tapered head of his dick into Will's entrance.

Hannibal pushed slowly, gasping in revelation as he was sheathed, inch by inch, inside the tight and grasping passage as Will whimpered and writhed beneath him. When he was as far inside as he could go, he paused to let the younger man adjust, licking with a quick darting swipe at a sticky white streak on Will's smooth, unblemished cheek.

"Oh," Will made a surprised noise as Hannibal's cock nudged against his prostate with the first undulating thrust. Hannibal spread his thighs wide with a tight grip, rolling his hips as he set a slow, careful rhythm. He seemed mesmerised as Will's hole enveloped him again and again, watching the place where their bodies merged with rapt attention. 

Cal allowed his eyelids to droop, listening to the harsh breathing of the other men, the wet slapping of skin against skin. An animalistic symphony, punctuated by gasps and cries as Hannibal methodically fucked Will into a state of rising pleasure. To this soundtrack Cal gazed into darkness, the bed shuddering and rocking beneath him. Minutes passed this way, before someone spoke.

"Harder," said Will. Guttural and strange, the utterance of a creature so far gone it had almost forgotten how to be human. When Cal opened his eyes he could see the sheen of sweat on Hannibal's face as he drove inside Will with renewed force. A look of concentration, as he tried to forestall his release. Cal was beginning to understand, now. For all his shows of dominance, Hannibal was at the mercy of his love. Even with Will spread and panting beneath him, the other man held him in submission. Hannibal would not come until Will allowed it.

What was it like, to be thus enslaved? To be dominated by a soft caress or a gentle tone, rather than a pose or a posture or a punishing fist? Cal liked to talk in wistful terms of his own self-sacrifice, his love lost, but he had always needed to own without wanting himself to be owned in turn. As he watched the increasing frenzy of the other men rutting beside him on the bed, he felt a pang of jealousy for both of them, for what they could have together.

Will's breath hitched in his throat as he gulped the air in short, shallow bursts that tapered into whimpers. Hannibal reached for Will's neglected cock but the younger man batted his hand away, already cresting his climax. His member twitched against his belly as he came, painting a white line that punctuated the scar on his abdomen, pooling in his navel.

Hannibal slowed his thrusting, but Will wasn't having it. "Don't you dare stop," he moaned, even though he was oversensitive to the point of pain. He reached around to dig his blunt fingernails into the skin of Hannibal's back. "I want you to- I want to see you."

Hannibal's hips moved with quick, stuttering jerks. Three times, four, and he released a guttural moan as he spent himself deep inside. He sank down over Will's body, buttocks clenching reflexively, relinquishing his grip on sweaty thighs to cup the younger man's face with both palms. They kissed, sweet and sated, as Will wrapped his legs around Hannibal's waist to press him closer.

"Never leave me," Hannibal said, brushing soft words across Will's parted lips.

"Never let me go," Will responded.

Their voices were familiar and intimate, the edges blurred with pastel-tinted tenderness. With love, if monsters could love.

It was well past noon when a man named Cal Roberts stepped out into the sunshine, pulling his overcoat tight around his body to protect from the chill. He closed the door quietly behind him and moved on unsteady legs toward his vehicle. The keys were in his pocket with his phone, which was already buzzing at him angrily, wasplike. 

He lifted the device from his pocket. Seven missed calls. "Sarah?" He asked as he read the name on the display.

"Cal? Are you okay?" Sarah's voice was concerned. "I thought you were due back last night. I was worried when we didn't hear from you."

Cal fumbled with his keys. "I- Yeah, I'm okay, Sarah. Thank you." When he finally managed to unlock the door, he sank into the driver's seat with a wince at the multitude of aches in his body. "I got mugged, and I-"

"What?" Rising at least an octave, a tone of panic. "Where are you? I'll come and get you. Should I call the police?" She ended with noticeable uncertainty. The police were a fixture of the system, treated warily and with reluctant cooperation at the best of times.

"No, don't." Cal started the car, gazing out toward the curtained window of the motel room as the windshield slowly fogged with his breath. "I'm fine, really. Just a couple of desperate guys in need of money. They took me by surprise, but I'm more shaken than anything."

"Sure." Sarah wasn't convinced, but she acceeded.

He had been in a light doze when he had heard the shower running in the bathroom, and an insistent tug on his ankles as Will set about wordlessly untying his bindings.

A questioning glance had been met with only a shrug. An understanding.

They never said a word to one another. No expression of thanks, no repetition of threats. Shortly after, Will had risen from the bed with lithe grace and had gone to join Hannibal in the shower. 

"They only took your money?" Sarah was asking.

"Yeah," he lied. His passport, wrapped in a hastily scribbled note on a piece of cheap hotel stationery, had been tucked into the pocket of Will's coat before he left the room. _Will, I wish you both the best but in case of the worst, take this._ He hoped that his lookalike found it before Hannibal did, but there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. It was clear that Hannibal was not in charge. Perhaps he never had been. "Maybe a couple of hundred dollars, thirty or forty soles left over from my trip."

"I'm just glad you're okay." He could almost see her face as she spoke, but he didn't feel the usual pang of longing as this vision came to him. Maybe this was what it was like, to be satisfied. "Hurry home, okay?"

A warm welcome, a cold bed. He really did feel better though. It had been a violent distraction, but a distraction nonetheless.

"Okay." Cal said. "I'll be back soon."

Part of him hoped that he might one day see Hannibal and Will again. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility. They knew who he was, they knew where he was. 

If they looked him up again, it wouldn't be because they wanted Cal to lead them into the light. Maybe, he mused, he would be equally happy to let them lead him headlong into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that was hard to write. Sorry for the delay on this, my lovelies. Real life got in the way, as these things often do.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Hope those crazy kids make a go of it. Seriously, they need to work on their communication if they're going to last the distance.
> 
> I've been over this chapter so many times over the last couple of weeks it's entirely possible that whole sections don't make sense. Also, as is my habit, I am posting this late at night. If you point out any glaring errors I will be endlessly grateful, seriously. I may notice passages tomorrow morning that make me cringe/cry/spontaneously combust. It's just all blurring together for me at the moment. Ugh. Gonna go get some sleep.
> 
> THANK YOU to all the glorious wonderful readers who have left comments and kudos on my work. You are the light of my life, and I hope we'll one day walk together in the Garden. :P 
> 
> A special shoutout to [SLq](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SLq/pseuds/SLq) who wrote a fic - [Shadow at my Back](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7029193) \- inspired by my story, which was so lovely and took me by surprise and I am endlessly grateful for this wonderful fandom full of amazing talented people. In case I haven't done my daily dose of raving about how much I love my Fannibal family.

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to validate my existence on [Tumblr](http://frankenberger.tumblr.com/), or pester me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Frankenberger/).
> 
> Love you all!


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